


Choose Your Own Adventure

by verboseDescription



Series: To The Moon and Back [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verboseDescription/pseuds/verboseDescription
Summary: “Why do you care what happens to me?” the child of Eric Delano demands. “What do you get from helping me?”Michael smiles, confused.“Do I need a reason?” it asks.Or:Michael is becoming. Michael has already become. Michael is dying. Michael is already dead.The world is not so simple that this cannot all be true.
Series: To The Moon and Back [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715521
Comments: 47
Kudos: 191





	Choose Your Own Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't have to be read with Velveteen Rabbit, but it definitely takes place in the same universe. So, Gerry's alive. That's really all that changes.

“Why do you care what happens to me?” the child of Eric Delano demands. “What do you get from helping me?”

Michael smiles, confused.

“Do I need a reason?” it asks.

  
  


“You don’t have to try so hard, you know,” Emma tells Michael. “I get that you’re new, but no one ever gets fired from the Archives. I mean, Eric’s still here.”

“I know,” Michael sighs. “I just want to be _helpful!_ Gertrude always looks so glum! Eric too. If I can save them some stress by sorting through some files, or making tea, why shouldn’t I?”

“Please don’t waste your twenties like this,” Emma begs. “There’s more to life than working in the Archives.”

“There isn’t, really,” Michael says. “But that’s okay! What we’re doing is important.”

“It’s just stories, Michael,” Emma says. Michael just smiles.

“Stories are important, too, Emma,” he tells her.

  
  


A woman catches him staring. Her hair is long. She wears glasses. She will not be remembered this way.

“What are you looking at?” she demands. There is a worm on her. In her. She is shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. He can pull the worm out with his hands, so he does. “Assistants must be careful, you know. There are dangers everywhere for your kind.”

“My kind,” the woman repeats.

“Surely,” Michael says. “You must know what you are.”

  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude. Long hair. Many eyes. He is sick. He isn’t scared. He doesn’t know enough to be.

Michael opens a door. There is a laugh.

“I think I’ll have to skip my appointment today, Michael,” he says. “Gertrude’s got me pretty busy.”

The door remains stubbornly open. No one walks through.

“Next time,” he promises. Michael will not let this be a lie.

  
  
  


Emma is smoking in the Archives. Eric, who is no longer alive, would scold her for risking her health. Michael, who is no longer human, would say something about the statements.

“I never expected to be the last one left,” she tells the door that does not lead out of the Archives. “Michael was right. We should have cared more. Eric was the only one around here who knew anything. And we both just brushed him off. We just _laughed!_ And now he’s gone. Legally dead, with no body. And the same thing’s about to happen to you.”

The door creaks open.

“If I told you you looked just like him,” Emma murmurs. “Would it be a lie?”

“It would be an act of kindness,” Michael says, earnestly.

  
  
  
  


The child of Eric Delano has been staring at the door in front of him for almost an hour. He chews his lip, aware of how easily he could fall victim to this kind of creature, but determined not to show fear.

“I’m not going in,” he announces. “Sorry, but you’re not getting me that easily.”

Michael opens the door.

“I mean you no harm,” it says. “I simply wanted to know how you were doing.”

“I don’t think I know you,” he says.

“No,” Michael agrees. It can feel its colors fade. “No, perhaps not.”

“But you know me,” he says.

“I have been told many wonderful things about you,” Michael says.

“‘Wonderful,’” he repeats. An eyebrow is raised. “Well, guess you’re not Mum’s friend, then. But I’m not sure if I’ve got anyone else. Especially not someone with--you’re the Spiral, right?”

“Yes,” Michael nods. “You must be very clever, to know me so quickly.”

“It wasn’t like it was hard,” he says. He does not react to the compliment. Though he is new to adulthood, he is old enough to wear suspicion like a comfortable jacket. “Not like you’re making any effort to hide it.”

“Perhaps not,” Michael agrees.

“So who told you?” he demands. 

“Oh,” The Distortion says. “I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

  
  
  


“Why are you helping me?” the woman in glasses asks. She is cautious. Curious. It is unfortunate she will not survive. Michael smiles. It is too much for her. Too bright. But it cannot lower it’s own volume. Michael hands her a flower.

“I think,” Michael says. “I would like to be friends.”

  
  


“I know we’re coworkers,” Michael says carefully. “But I’d like to be friends, too.”

“Friends,” Eric repeats. He is cautious. Curious.

“Is that being too forward of me?” Michael asks, suddenly anxious. “I just--I know you keep to yourself, and you have your own projects, and we got off to a weird start but it’d be nice if we all got along, wouldn’t it?”  
That gets Eric to smile.

“It certainly would be,” he agrees. “Would you like my help on that case you’re working on?”

Michael breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, _please,”_ he says.

  
  
  
  
  


“Do you think,” Emma asks slowly. “You could drop me out of the sky?”

  
  
  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude.

Michael is getting car sick. Eric pats his back.

“This isn’t how I planned my first research trip would go,” Michael moans.

“Nothing ever works out how you expect it to with Gertrude,” Eric says. He’s still sympathetic, but there’s a bitterness Michael doesn’t understand to his words.

“I’m sorry we’re taking away time you could be spending with your son,” Michael says. “Will your wife be alright on her own?”

Eric snorts at that.

“She’s never minded before,” he says. “You know what’s making you sick? It’s got to be Gertrude’s ridiculous driving. Next time we stop, I’ll take over.”

Michael breathes a sigh of relief.

“We should have never agreed to get a rental,” Eric says. “Let that be a lesson to us both: never listen to Gertrude Robinson!”

Michael shushes him, but he can’t help cracking a smile.

“That’s our _boss!”_ he says.

“Don’t worry, Michael,” Eric says. “If she wants to fire you, she’ll have to go through me.”

  
  


“You can’t keep treating us like we’re disposable! We’re not your tools, and you can’t work us till we break!”

“Michael is perfectly fine, though I’m surprised to hear you of all people shout about _worth.”_

“This isn’t about Mary, Gertrude. I know who she is, and I know what she wants from me. That’s fine. I can handle that. But I never agreed to be that for _you._ And Michael didn’t either.”

“It may surprise you to hear this, Eric, but I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

“Oh, no, I know. We’d be too hard to replace. People as foolish as us aren’t too easy to come by, after all.”

Michael closes his eyes. If he pretends to be asleep, they won’t bother him. He doesn’t want to be forced to pick a side.

  
  


A woman named Helen Richardson sobs when she leaves the hallways. Michael feels something akin to hatred burning inside. What made her so special? Why her, out of everyone that it had taken? Why not _him?_

The Distortion growls. It does not like losing a meal.

  
  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude. Another woman. Small. Brown hair. She is not scared. She is too tired to think of fear.

“I don’t like _The Tundra,_ Gertrude,” Emma complains. “I know it’s a company boat or whatever, but it feels so--so…”

“I would be careful with your words,” Gertrude says. A crinkle of a smile. “We’re very lucky to have these kinds of resources, you know.”

“There should be a bigger crew,” Emma mumbles. “It’s too quiet. It’s not right.”

Peter Lukas looks on with interest. 

  
  


Gerry smiles at the door.

“I know,” he says. “I remembered this time, okay? Today, I’m going to the doctor.”

  
  
  


When Michael first meets Eric Delano, he’s resting on the floor of the Archives.

“Um,” Michael says.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Emma says. “Eric just refuses to get any work done.”

“But is he _okay?”_ Michael asks.

“I am,” Eric confirms. “I was just trying to quit, that’s all. Tends to take a lot out of me.”

“Don’t mind that, either,” Emma tells Michael. “He’s always about that vague.”

“I’m not vague, you just don’t care,” Eric snorts. “I’m always happy to explain my thoughts, and you know that.”

“Ah, but if I knew what you were thinking, I’d have to get rid of my ‘weird things Eric Delano says to me’ tally,” Emma says. “I can’t let all my hard work go to waste.”

“Of course,” Eric says dryly.

“Um,” Michael says. “Do you at least want a pillow?”

“It’s his first day, and he’s already so helpful,” Eric says. He turns to Emma. “You’ve known me for years. What’s your excuse?”

“That I’ve known you for years,” Emma deadpans.

“You wound me, Emma,” Eric says. He stands up. “Well, welcome to the Archives, Michael. If you have any questions, feel free to ask one of us.”

“Gertrude’s filing system is a bit terrifying,” Emma agrees. “But we won’t let you face it alone.”

  
  
  


Gerry Keay wanders into a waiting room. This is not where he expected to be. But he knows he is not trapped. The door that led him here, though it was not always the case, simply leads back into a normal hallway. The walls around him are sturdy. The people around him are human.

He does not know why he is here.

“Looking for someone?” the receptionist asks.

“Oh,” Gerry says. “Uh, can you check if I have an appointment here? Under Gerard Keay?”

“It looks like you do,” the receptionist frowns. “Sorry--my computer’s acting strangely. Gerard Keay, right? Not Delano?”

“Oh--um, yeah. Keay.”

“Well,” the receptionist tells him. “It looks like your appointment’s in fifteen minutes. I’ll call you in when the doctor’s ready for you.”

“Cool,” Gerry says. “Uh--weird question, I know, but does it say who made the appointment?”

“A relative,” the receptionist squints at her screen. “Someone named Michael?”

  
  
  
  


Gerry’s crying in its hallways. Michael hovers near, suddenly very aware of its almost-flesh form.

“What did I do this for?” he asks. “I had all the time in the fucking world to fix myself and I still kept waiting. For _her._ And she doesn’t even--she’s not--”

“I know,” Michael says.

“I’m going to have surgery tomorrow,” Gerry sobs. “I know I’m tough, I know, and I’ve had hundreds of close calls before, but I made out alright, but that doesn’t mean--I don’t want--”

More sobs. The tears fly off his face as soap bubbles.

“Why did she leave me?” he asks, voice cracking, voice tender as a newborn fawn, crying for its mother.

_It hurts it hurts why did she leave me, why did she lead me here, why did she leave me, why did we come all this way together if it was going to end like this?_

“Gertrude doesn’t care if the fog finds me,” Emma snarls.

“Gertrude doesn’t care about us, Michael,” Eric says softly. “All she needs to know is that we’ll come running when she calls.”

  
  


“Michael?” Gerry says, voice wavering, voice sensitive as a bruise.

“Don’t you worry, Book Burner,” Michael hums. It runs a hand through Gerry’s hair, careful not to let itself be tangled. “You will not have to face this alone.”

  
  
  


Helen finds the beating heart of Michael Shelley trapped under the floorboards.

“Oh,” she says. “You must have been so lonely stuck down there.”

  
  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude. Or, no wait--that can’t be right. Gertrude is dead.

The Archivist travels alone.

  
  
  


When the doctor leaves the room, a new door appears.

“So this was you?” he accuses. “Why? Figure you can’t get me with any of your usual shit, so you decide to freak me out with a health scare?”

“I was not trying to scare you,” Michael says. “I haven’t done anything to these machines. When they find out about your tumor, it will be because that is the truth.”

A face becomes pale at the mention of the word ‘tumor.’

“Why do you care what happens to me?” the child of Eric Delano demands. “What do you get from helping me?”

Michael smiles, confused.

“Do I need a reason?” it asks.

“Things like you don’t make a habit of just doing good deeds,” Gerry says.

“Perhaps not,” Michael agrees. “But I made a promise.”

  
  


“Promise me you won’t stop caring,” Emma says. “If I think about this anymore, I think I’ll lose my mind. But this place--someone needs to take care of it. If no one does anything, we’ll just keep going in circles and we’ll keep getting more and more miserable until there’s nothing left of us and Gertrude tosses us aside for some new assistants, and the whole thing starts all over again like some stupid ouroboros of fear _.”_

“I delight in the suffering of others,” Michael says. Emma snorts.

“You don’t,” she says. She holds out a pinkie. “Promise? Please, Michael. They shouldn’t be alone. Not like us.”

It hurts her to latch on to her finger, but she pretends not to notice the blood.

“Just… promise me you’ll talk to someone?” Georgie Barker asks the Archivist. “I don’t think you can handle whatever you’ve gotten into on your own.”

Circles and circles.

“Eric was my best friend,” Emma says, voice cracking, voice like a dropped egg. “And I don’t even know where he _lives!_ Where he _lived._ Fuck, I didn’t even realize he was dead.”

“Sasha was my best friend,” Timothy Stoker says, voice in a snarl, face like a wild animal. “And you’re telling me I didn’t even notice--”

“Do you want some tea, Gertrude?” Michael Shelley asks.

“Does anyone want any tea?” Martin Blackwood asks.

“I think I’m going to quit,” Sasha James says.

“I have to quit,” Eric Delano says. “For Gerry.”

“There’s nothing holding me here, you know?” Sasha adds.

“Yeah,” says the friend. “I know”

Circles and circles.

There is someone traveling with Gertrude. Long hair. Blonde. He shivers in the cold. He isn’t scared. He doesn’t know enough to be.

“Are you sure you’re alright in this cold, Gertrude?” Michael asks.

“I’ll survive,” Gertrude says, mouth quirking into a small. Michael doesn’t get the joke.

  
  


“If we drown,” Eric says. “It will because Gertrude didn’t think we were worth the cost of a lifeboat.”

  
  


A door opens. A man walks through, holding tight to a map. He thinks of his friend, lost to a door just like this one. He walks. More doors appear, but he ignores them all. The map does not tell him to go through a door, so he does not. He walks. He twists past striped wallpaper, avoids a dangling light fixture and climbs through a window. His map tells him he is getting closer. His map tells him he has never been so far away. The world is not so simple that these cannot both be true. He is in pain. He can no longer remember a time when that was not the case.

Finally, after many years, finally, after only a few hours, he finds a room.

“Oh,” he says. There is a woman inside. “Are you looking for a way out?”

Helen laughs.

“There is no way out, Michael,” she says. “You know this.”

Michael trembles.

“I don’t think I know you,” he says slowly. “I’m not sure…”

“You’re dying, Michael,” Helen tells him.

“I’ve been dead for years,” Michael says.

“Yes,” Helen agrees. “And now I’m going to kill you.”

  
  


“Do you think,” Emma asks. “You could drop me out of the sky?”

“Emma would not survive the fall,” Michael says.

“But I might,” says the one who will become Emma Fairchild.

“You might,” Micheal agrees. “Either way, it would be an escape.”

  
  
  


The door had been meant for the woman with glasses. It hadn’t opened in time. But the man with the handsome face and the tragic eyes and the one in a frost-bitten jumper are still alive, and in need of help.

The Distortion licks its lips.

“Martin,” says one. “His hands!”

“I am offering you an escape,” Michael says. “You don’t have to take it. But I doubt you will survive, otherwise.”

The Assistants exchange a look. The worms continue to crawl.

“Doesn’t look like we have a choice,” says the one who spends his time surrounded by steam.

“I don’t like it,” says the tragic Adonis.

“You should not,” Michael says, cheerful. Happy as a dog with a bone. “But you are very quickly running out of options.”

The Assistants take each other’s hands. They nod.

“Okay,” one says. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The Distortion closes the door behind them.

  
  


“I don’t care what happens to me,” Emma says. “I just need to get away. Away from Gertrude, and her vague-ass instructions, and this--this _damn fog!”_

  
  


Michael’s studying for a test when he hears his roommate shout. He’s sobbing.

“Ryan?” Michael asks. “Ryan, what’s wrong?”

 _“The door is back,”_ Ryan sobs. “Michael, please. You’re the only one who knows it’s real. I think--I think it wants me to go through. I don’t know where it’ll take me, but I don’t want to go.”

Michael can see the door. Can see the wrongness of it. He climbs onto Ryan’s bed.

“Don’t worry,” Michael promises. He cradles Ryan in his arms. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it take you.”

Ryan sobs louder.

“It keeps following me,” he says. “Everywhere I go. Michael, I don’t think I can avoid it forever.”

“You can,” Michael insists. “I won’t let it take you.”

“Michael,” Ryan says. His voice is soft. He trembles the way rabbits breathe. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

  
  


He knows he shouldn’t, especially not after his diagnosis, but he finds himself reaching for a cigarette. When he lights it, it smells like tea, and the smoke is warm and soft, as if it belonged near a steaming cup. He drops the cigarette in surprise.

“That’s a nasty habit you’ve got,” Michael says.

“You again,” Gerry says. “I met you once, didn’t I? A couple years back. You said someone told you about me.”

“Eric Delano spoke a great deal of his child, when he was alive,” Michael says. “Much has changed since then.”

“Does that mean you worked in the Archives?” Gerry asks.

“Michael did,” Michael says.

“And… you’re Michael?” he asks.

“What I am is his ashes, tied to a door,” it says. He doesn’t understand.

“What was my dad like?” he asks. Quiet. Hesitant. Eyes begging like a starving animal.

“He was kind,” Michael says. “He would have done anything to see you grow.”

Michael hadn’t expected the tears.

“Right,” Gerry says. “Of course.”

  
  


“Emma,” Michael says. “Have you heard from Eric?”

“No,” Emma admits. “Not since he quit. I mean, I guess that’s no surprise--he’s got a kid to look after, and his eyes--I’m sure he’s been pretty busy.”

“Probably,” Michael says. “But that’s why I want to go see him! We should stop by to offer our help.”

Emma frowns, biting her lip.

“Emma?”

“I… don’t know where he lives,” Emma admits. “He--I think Mary has a bookstore? But he really wanted to keep his work separate from his home. I--I can’t believe I didn’t ask. I mean, he really didn’t want me to know, and that was fine, because I had his number, but now he’s not answering, and--”

“Emma,” Michael says. Emma stares at him. He smiles. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just… adjusting.”

The worry in Emma’s face doesn’t leave, but she smiles back.

“Yeah,” she says. “He’s probably just busy.”

  
  


The creature that does not have glasses or long hair leaves the room.

“She’s lying to you,” Michael says. The Archivist jumps out of his chair in shock.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I,” The Distortion chuckles. “Am a _what.”_

  
  


A door opens. A man walks through, holding tight to a map. He thinks of his friend, lost to a door just like this one. He walks. More doors appear, but he ignores them all. The map does not tell him to go through a door, so he does not. He is starting to lose himself. He’s not sure how much farther he can keep walking.

 _For Gertrude,_ he tells himself, though he is not sure that is a name he still knows. _For Ryan. For every single fucking person who triple checks the locks on their doors. For everyone who wakes up and doesn’t know where they are._

There is a locked door. If he opens it, he will lose himself. He will open it anyway.

There is nothing of him left to lose.

  
  


“Michael,” Helen says. “You’re dying.”

“But there’s still something I need to do,” Michael insists. “I’ve been looking for so long.”

“I think,” Helen says firmly. “It’s time I showed you to the exit.”

  
  


Michael cannot move. The Leitner he has been told to retrieve is right where he expected it to be. What he hadn’t expected was the bodies. The ice.

“Is it there, Michael?” Gertrude asks, almost bored. “What’s taking so long?”

Michael jolts. He cannot let Gertrude see all this. The poor old woman. Gertrude was a skeptic, he knew. Even if she believed in the Leitners, this would be too much for her.

“Don’t come in!” Michael says. “The floor is--it’s slippery! I don’t want you to trip.”

“Then I suppose you better hurry up,” Gertrude says, amused. Michael swallows the bile rising in his throat as he walks towards the frozen corpse holding the book. He has to snap off its fingers to pry the book free. He can feel the frost through his gloves.

“I think,” Michael says. “Gertrude, I think I need to burn this.”

He waits for her to protest.

“Do what you must,” is all the Archivist says.

  
  


“Am I drowning?” Michael asks.

“You’ve already drowned,” Helen says, gently. 

  
  


“I’m surprised you’re still here,” The Archivist tells it.

“I cannot _leave,”_ The Distortion hisses. “Thanks to you. As long as I remain Michael, I will not be able to stray far from you and your like.”

There is a grin.

“Michael thought you were a harmless old woman,” it says. An accusation. A betrayal.

“Well, I’m sure you know better,” The Archivist says. Smug. Teasing. 

“One day,” The Distortion promises. “I will find a way to kill you.”

“Mmm, you might,” The Archivist agrees. “But until then, I ask that you allow me to continue my work in peace. And do try not to frighten Emma too terribly.”

  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude. He sneaks out of their hotel room to talk in the hallways.

“You really don’t trust Gertrude, do you?” Gerry asks. He pulls out a cigarette. When he lights it, flowers sprout. “Oh, nice one.”

“Gertrude will have you killed,” Michael says.

“Have a little more faith in me, will you?” Gerry says. “I can handle myself.”

“She knows you are ill,” Michael says.

“She doesn’t,” Gerry insists. “If she did she’d have said something. She didn’t even let me sleep in today, you know? Not even she would be so cruel, if she knew.”

“You should not have agreed to come,” Michael tells him. Gerry smiles.

“Couldn’t help it,” he says. “She needed me.”

  
  
  


“Michael,” Helen says. “The exit. All you need to do is open the door.”

  
  
  


“Surprise!” Emma shouts, spinning Michael’s chair around to face her.

“What do you _want?”_ Michael shrieks. Emma grins. He sees the cake in her arms and feels himself smile.

“Happy birthday, Michael,” she says. She sets the cake down on his desk.

“You remembered,” he says softly. “I’ve only been working here for a year.”

“And you’ve been an absolute delight the whole time,” Emma says. “Isn’t that right, Eric?”

“Absolutely,” Eric says. “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not qualified for this. You’re a wonderful researcher. And personally, I think we all deserve a little cake.”

“Exactly!” Emma says. “We weren’t sure what kind you liked, but Gertrude said you couldn’t have gluten, so Eric and I found a recipe and made it ourselves! Oh, don’t worry, though--Eric’s an excellent cook! He made sure it was _perfect.”_

“All that, just for me,” Michael says.

“Well, yeah,” Emma says, like it’s obvious. “We love you, Michael. And we’re glad you’re here in the Archives with us.”

A door opens.

“Gertrude!” Emma says, delighted. “Come over here! Have some cake!”

  
  
  
  


“Why did you help him?” Tim asks “Why help any of us?”

“You know,” Helen hums. “I’m not sure I could say.”

  
  
  
  
  


There is someone traveling with Gertrude. Long hair. Blonde. He shivers in the cold. 

He is glad, he thinks, that neither of them had to make this trip alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's curious about the timeline: Eric (canonically) tried for two years before he finally quit the Institute. I'm assuming Michael's hired a couple of months into that.  
> It's not relevant, but I'm also placing Michael becoming the Distortion at around 2009 (which is when he first meets Gerry as a young adult). They only officially meet in 2013, when Michael makes a doctor's appointment for Gerry. Emma becomes a Fairchild in 2011. She's also legally dead. I may have thought too much about timelines for a spiral fic.  
> Helen will appear in the next chapter of Velveteen Rabbit.  
> Find me on Tumblr @ofdreamsanddoodles


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